Days of Our Lives - Time Waits for No One
by Celgress
Summary: A tale of time travel and intrigue.
1. Chapter 1

The Tardis (while possessing Rose Tyler): "I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself. I take the words; I scatter them in time and space —_[the words "BAD WOLF" detach from the Corporation's sign on the opposite wall and fly off]_ — a message to lead myself here."

Doctor Who - The Parting of the Ways June, 2005 

**Time Waits For No One: Part One of ?**

by

Celgress

_Salem, July 2029 C.E._

Crack-ah-boom! thunder crashed as lightning painted the darkened sky above the docks of Salem in a series of vivid blues & whites. Torrents of rain lashed the motley assortment of long forgotten crates and worn out fishing gear. It was a night not fit for man nor beast.

Suddenly the dancing lightning smashed into the ancient wooden structure itself. Miraculously the pier neither caught aflame nor splintered into a million pieces. Instead the withering cascade of electricity coalesced around an eerie shape. Over the course of nearly one minute a strange device resembling a giant bubble more than anything else emerged, dissipating the errand static charge around itself during the process of materialization. Inside the giant bubble seated upon a black, leather, bucket seat sat a tall, slim man of about thirty with short black, curly hair and an inquisitive, friendly face. Outside the storm rapidly dissipated, within minutes leaving behind a cool, clean summer night. Overhead a canopy of rapidly moving broken clouds sailed across the sky, stars and moon peeking out between the expanding gaps.

The thin man flipped a series of switches within the giant bubble. In short order the bubble split in two, the top half pealing back like a popped clamshell. The thin man emerged into the cooling air of the mid-summer night. With his hands he absentmindedly smoothed out his frilly white shirt and picked a small piece of lint off his black slacks, looking down at his shiny black shoes in the process. He then deeply inhaled the cool, damp, ocean air.

It was good to be back home, in Salem thought Eugene Bradford. _It had been so long since he had last visited his little town, in any time period. No, Salem wasn't big enough for Eugene Bradford anymore and hadn't been for years now. 'Years' inwardly Eugene laughed. What exactly did, could, years mean to a time traveler like himself? All time was relevant to the perspective of the experiencer after all. A constant measurement could thus not exist. _

With a profound shrug Eugene switched his thoughts to less existential matters. _I wonder how many of my old friends are still alive in this time period? I sadly doubt Roman, Shane or Bo would have lived to a ripe old age those dear men took way to many risks. I wonder how my dear Marlena, Carrie and the adorable twins are doing these days? All grown up, I would suppose. Well there is only one way to find out. Into town I go-ah on a little walk about-ah. _

Eugene pulls a small gray remote control from his pants pocket. He aims the remote at his time machine (for that is indeed what it is, new and improved), and pressed several buttons. The bubble like structure reseals itself with a sharp snap & hiss sound followed by a few loud beeps as the entire contraption shimmers, blinks and then seems to vanish.

"Thank goodness for that little clocking device I picked up on Rigel VI in 2366. It was worth its weight in dilithium crystal, just like that space merchant said. How else could I hide my time machine in places like this?" says Eugene as he kisses the remote then pockets it. He walks away down the pier, humming some strange tune.

Eugene only gets several hundred feet when he sees something that gives him pause. Plastered on several of the pillars that make up the pier are wanted posters. All the posters show the same bizarre individual. The fugitive is wearing a brown cloak & cowl, a brown face mask with two jagged black eyeholes and a brown sweatshirt. The fugitive is listed as 'Dark Cloak' est. height 5'8 - 5'10, est. build slight - medium, is wanted for many serious crimes including the murder of several prominent citizens and the near destruction of the Dimera Mansion & Brady Pub via arson. 'Dark Cloak's' true identity is listed as unknown and the fugitive is considered armed and extremely dangerous.

"Dark Cloak' repeats Eugene, after reading over the poster."I sure hope this wacko hasn't hurt any of my friends. That would be a real shame. Dark Cloak, darn here I thought I was weird." Eugene chuckles as he leaves the pier behind.

Unbeknownst to Eugene Bradford his spectacular arrival hasn't gone unnoticed. As Eugene leaves the docks the shadowy figure of Dark Cloak emerges from a nearby hiding place. Dark Cloak peaks out to make sure Eugene is indeed actually gone, then and only then does Dark Cloak fully emerge from hiding. The rest of Dark Cloak's outfit is the same shade of drab brown, gloves, pants, belt and boots, as depicted on the wanted posters.

"Well, well, well", rasps the scratchy voice of Dark Cloak "looks like getting soaked out here on the docks tonight wasn't such a bad idea after all. I have no idea who that was, not that it matters."

Dark Cloak slowly moves towards the place once occupied by the spherical time machine. Dark Cloak reaches out with gloved hands and gently caresses the invisible device. Dark Cloak leans against the machine, mimicking a lovers tender embrace.

"Together", Dark Cloak rasps, "we will do such great things my sweet. Together we will teacher the people of Salem a lesson that will echo down through the ages. Most importantly together we will obtain justice for what they have so callously done, and I will finally have my revenge!"

To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

**Time Waits For No One: Part Two of ?**

by

Celgress 

_Valencia Italy, August 1958 C.E._

The dapperly dressed and impeccably groomed Santo Dimera strolled through the extensive gardens surrounding his _Via Colleenina, _his young son Stefano trudging along by his side. Stanto had rechristened the road, which wound around his extensive Valencian estates, after his poor dead lover Colleen Brady upon his return to Italy several years before.

Stanto's lips twisted into a cruel sneer as he thought of how Colleen's family had reacted to the revelation of their lover. How that reaction had destroyed his beloved in body, mind and even soul. How Colleen humiliated, had taken her own life.

"They'll pay", Stanto murmured darkly. His voice was a deadly whisper. "Oh how they will pay."

Stanto's son turned to his father. "Are you thinking about those dreadful Brady people again Papa?" asked the young Stefano. His voice filled with trepidation, as if frightened of the response.

"Yes my boy, I was." Replied Stanto simply. "But let us not dwell upon that vile family. They have already taken more than enough from us. I will not let them also take away the joy of this beautiful afternoon." Stanto concluded, with a sweeping gesture his arms encompassed the scene of natural & man made opulence surrounding father and son.

Suddenly a strange, cloaked figure brandishing a pistol landed directly in front of the pair. The figure having jumped from the well-manicured bushes which lined either side of the cobblestone path. The figure's outlandish outfit was comprised of a simple jogging suit like garment, complete with the aforementioned hood, a cape, a pair of gloves, hiking boots and a full face mask. Identifying features were completely obscured behind the dual layer mesh faceplate, which bore two crude holes in the top layer that seemed reminisced of eyeholes. All parts of the bizarre ensemble were various shades of brown.

"Who in the blue Hell are you!?" demanded the startled Stanto. "What are you doing on my estate? Judging by the getup you may be one of those anarchist idiots. Are you one of those crazy down with the establishment types?" All the while he was questioning the figure, with his right arm Stanto slowly guided his son to get behind him.

"I'm called Dark Cloak." Answered the figure, a gloved hand tightening it's grip on the firearm. "I'm your executioner, Dimera scum." A gloved finger squeezed the trigger.

Fast as Dark Cloak was Santo proved a little faster on this particular exchange. Before Dark Cloak fully fired the gun, Santo threw himself at the masked assailant. The force of the impact caused the bullet to veer wildly off course into the nearby bushes. Soon the hands of Santo and Dark Cloak were locked in a death grip over the latter's deadly toy.

"Run Stefano! Run my boy!" screamed Stanto, as he grappled with his costumed opponent. "Go get help, get help now Stefano find the guards!"

"I can't leave you Papa!" cried the distraught young lad, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Fly to safety boy, fly!" grunted Stanto, removing one hand from the gun only to catch Dark Cloak with a vicious uppercut a few seconds later. The blow staggered the would-be killer. Dark Cloak dropped the gun as he was nearly knocked off his feet.

"Now you're mine fool!" declared an exhausted Santo Dimera, who had stooped down and picked up the lost weapon. "Any last words you anarchist idiot?" cried Stanto, leveling the barrel at Dark Cloak's head.

Dark Cloak peered over Santo's shoulder, at the still sobbing Stefano. "Only this", said Dark Cloak in a low, steady, menacing tone. "You're not my target, you never were."

With that faster than Stanto could react Dark Cloak fell to the ground and rolled off to one side. Stanto pulled the trigger, but it was too late the target was gone. Dark Cloak hopping back to his feet and now holding a large armed forces type knife lunged towards the young, wide eyed Stefano Dimera.

What happened next unfolded so fast that Stefano didn't register what had transpired until it was all over. His father stepped between him and Dark Cloak just as the terrible knife was about to puncture his young flesh. Dark Cloak pressed some type of switch on the handle which caused the blade tip to fire like a bullet into the chest of his Father! Dark Cloak cursed as nearby the guards could be heard running towards the commotion.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit all to Hell!" screamed the hysterical Dark Cloak. "I had you within my grasp. You, you,,, Dimera you!" Dark Cloak utter Stefano's surname as if it were something unclean, repulsive, undeserving of any value. "I'll be back. Don't you dare think I wouldn't." continued the mysterious enraged figure, pointing at the terrified, shivering, youth. "I promise you. No matter what it takes. No matter how many times I must try and fail. Someday, I will be the one who kills you Stefano!" With the diatribe ended, and the guards about to arrive, Dark Cloak melted into the shadows of the deepening dusk.

"Not if I kill you first." vowed Stefano, his voice a cold whisper. Stefano looked down upon his badly injured father, tears returning to his eyes. "Help, guards over here! Help my father has been badly hurt!"

*******************************

Six months later

_Rome Italy, 1959 C.E._

Stanto Dimera lay dying in a hospital bed. His only company his young son Stefano. Stefano's life had been transformed over the past few months. His father, once so strong and vital had wasted away before his very eyes. The doctors said it was some type of rare incurable blood poisoning. His father only had a few more weeks to live, at most. The symptoms had first manifested themselves less than a week after father & son's confrontation with the now hated Dark Cloak.

Learning the knife which all but certainly had carried the deadly substance had been meant for Stefano rather than for his father ate away at the boy, filling him with guilt. At times the impact of it all was almost beyond baring. It crept into his every waking thought, tarnishing every aspect of his being with anguish.

Stefano knew his father had been murdered. His dear father murdered by that freakish stranger, though his father had been unable to learn the true identity of the monster. The murderer had inadvertently furnished them with one vital clue. The knife tip had been manufactured in a mid-western American town called Salem.

"Salem", intoned Stefano softly to himself. He vowed he would never forget that name. Nay if it took him years, even his entire lifetime he would make the 'good people' of this Salem pay and pay dearly for his father's death.

His father was still convinced the Brady clan had hired some type of freelance assassin to kill Stefano, and perhaps Stanto himself, as revenge for Stanto's love taking Colleen away from them. Stefano wasn't so sure his father was correct. Still Stefano had vowed revenge upon the Brady Family at Stanto's bequest. Stefano's fervent hope was that somehow fate would allow him the opportunity to punish both the wretched Brady Clan the accursed inhabitants of Salem.

to be continued


	3. Chapter 3

**Time Waits For No One: Part Three of ?**

by

Celgress 

_Aremid_ _USA, May 1970 C.E._

The explosion had destroyed nearly everything within an eight of a mile radius. The locally famous, though more recently many would argue infamous, Aremid Fairground & Pavilion had been reduced to a smoldering ruin. A lone figure watched the remnants of the once mighty inferno slowly burn itself out. Plumes of dark gray smoke curling up towards the heavens, marring the otherwise brilliant countenance of a clear Spring sky.

Dark Cloak sighed. He had failed to destroy the hated Stefano Dimera, now 27, once again. Last time the two had met, back in Valencia Italy, during 1958 Stefano was only 15 years old. Stefano was little more than a child then, only just on the cusp of manhood. Now the old viper was full grown, and nearing the peak of his powers.

Though giving up the previous advantages of wisdom and physical age, Dark Cloak had still caught the monster off guard, appearing from out of the shadows shortly after Stefano's current henchwoman, the young Celeste Perrault, had run over & killed the tragic Rachel Blake's husband Frederick. Stefano had been shocked to see Dark Cloak again, recognizing his strange assailant almost immediately.

After a tense and heated verbal exchanged between the two followed a vicious fight each almost getting the better of the other several times, this seesawing contest was ultimately ended by the interference of, the 18 year old, Celeste Perrault. While Dark Cloak was locked in mortal combat with Stefano, Celeste snuck up behind the oddly attired stranger driving a long, slender knife through Dark Cloak's left knee. Sparks flew everywhere as electricity arched around the damaged limb. Stefano and Celeste gasped. Dark Cloak stumbled back several steps, as the opponents retreated.

Dark Cloak cursed Celeste. Hating to do so, but feeling there was no other way, Dark Cloak pulled a futuristic looking grenade from one of many hidden pockets. Dark Cloak primed the grenade, then shouted at Stefano that his reign of terror was over and that Dark Cloak would soon see him in Hell. Tragically Rachel Blake ran up to Dark Cloak and sized the explosive before the latter could react and ran with towards the nearby old Fairground & Pavilion. Rachel Blake threw the grenade into the nearby structure moments before it went off, the black lash badly burning her in the process.

Dark Cloak had gotten to Rachel before anyone else. She lay on the cold, hard ground her face and hands badly burned. Cradling Rachel Dark Cloak frantically asked her why had she done such a thing. Rachel told Dark Cloak she did it for her children, Peter and Kristen. Stefano's people were holding them somewhere outside Aremid, and she feared they might harm them if anything happened to Stefano. Dark Cloak felt a pang of deep sorrow for the broken Rachel Blake, laying her gently down upon the grass as the shouts of an approaching group drew near. With great emotional effort Dark Cloak left Rachel to her fate, retreating into the nearby wilderness.

Much later, within the confines of Eugene's time machine, Dark Cloak repaired the damage that double cursed Celeste had done to the left robotic (though some might more aptly call it 'cybernetic') leg of the costumed character. Thankfully though acute, the damage done wasn't beyond repair. A few minutes of patching and tinkering later, all was good as new. For not the first time since assuming the identity of Dark Cloak did the being within, the strange shell, curse the parents whose selfishness had made all this necessary, including the vendetta against Stefano Dimera, and his equally detestable progeny.

Dark Cloak could barely believe that prince of devils Stefano Dimera, had escaped the sweet embrace of justice not once, but now twice at Dark Cloak's own righteous hands, beneath the mask teeth gritted together in frustration. He wouldn't escape again Dark Cloak mentally vowed; punching in a new set of space/time coordinates. Outside the Time Machine seemed to twinkle rapidly, before it disappeared from existence.

to be continued


	4. Chapter 4

"I couldn't help but wonder how the old man got his song. What a tragic tale of loneliness how fate had done him wrong. Whatever made the old man want to brave the cold and rain and tell the world his story 'til death could ease the pain."

Frank Mills - Love Me, Love Me, Love, 1972

**Time Waits For No One: Chapter Four of ?**

by

Celgress  
_The time stream, ?._

The time vortex swirled in beautiful, chaotic patterns of infinite diversity around the small, bubble shaped vessel. Inside the protective dome Dark Cloak sat still as stone, barely breathing. The strange figure was unsure how to proceed, though still young at that instant Dark Cloak felt old and worn out, incredibly tired. The sullen Dark Cloak brooded, slumping lower into the cockpit. Turbulent thoughts and bitter memories overwhelmed the troubled mind.

_I can't go back. I can't go forward either, can I? I certainly can't return home to my present time. If I do now, after failing in myself appointed quest not once but twice, nothing will change. The innocent whom I was before adopting this identity will still have suffered immense, irreversible physical and psychological damage. If only my family had actually cared about me. If only they had protected me, than none of this would be happening now. _

Beneath the mask Dark Cloak choked back several sobs. In most these type of sobs would have been accompanied by tears, but Dark Cloak could no longer properly produce most types of internal moisture. No that ability, along with flesh & blood legs and right forearm, had had been stripped away from Dark Cloak during the dreadful incident. The same occurrence which had set the course of Dark Cloak's life, the quest to purge from existence of the hated Dimera the figure recalled.

_"Incident" that is how most from the figure's own_ _time referred to the fire and resulting explosion at the Brady Pub that had destroyed the life of the person Dark Cloak had been. Oh the Pub had been rebuilt, and other material "restitution" had been made towards the Brady & Horton clans and the other people of Salem, by the guilty party. Otherwise the guilty party had gotten away scot free. The Dimera name, a few disingenuous platitudes, delivered by a sliver tongue, with a dazzling smile was enough to ensure the snake was free to destroy more lives with impunity._

Time was no longer on Dark Cloak's side. The figure knew this. Desperate times call for equally desperate actions. Desperate true, but were despicable and even down right vile actions also justified? The thought made the butterflies in Dark Cloak's stomach do summersaults.

_Yes they are, I have no choice. I must act soon. There are only so many years, only so many opportunities, left to prevent the creation of the snake. Dark Cloak had to cut the head off the serpent before it matured, before it was too late. I don't want to kill an infant; nearly offing the teenage Stefano was bad enough. I however feel I no longer have the luxury of such a choice. _

Shoulders squaring in determination Dark Cloak sat up straight in the chair. With surprising dexterity gloved fingers punched a series of numbers into the control console. Outside the swirling time vortex seemed to convulse around the vessel. The multitude of brilliant colors merging into a blinding white dark Cloak's mind filled with steely resolve, the terrible task ahead filling every aspect of the self-appointed rewriter of history's very soul.

_A few may suffer. Over all the future will be a much better one without EJ Wells-Dimera._

to be continued


End file.
